


regret

by StopIWantToTalkAboutCheese



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, F/M, Introspection, POV Aang (Avatar)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25999204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StopIWantToTalkAboutCheese/pseuds/StopIWantToTalkAboutCheese
Summary: Avatar Aang is dying. As he lies on his deathbed, he ruminates on the choices he has made throughout his life.Aang introspection and character study
Relationships: Aang & Gyatso, Aang & Katara (Avatar), Aang & Tenzin (Avatar), Aang/Katara (Avatar)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 45





	regret

**Author's Note:**

> what's up y'all  
> so... LoK is on netflix... so i decided to post this in celebration (?)  
> :)

The doctors were back again.

They hovered over his bed, muttering to each other behind cupped hands. They were still trying to save him. But Aang knew better.

He had spent weeks soaking in glowing water, day and night, as his wife and daughter took twelve-hour shifts, trying desperately to keep him alive. But Katara had lifted him out of the spirit water two hours ago.

His body was too old. His immune system was weak. The virus had ravaged his body, and while a normal man his age might be able to fight it off, Aang was not a normal man. The iceberg had saved his life, once, but now the decades were taking their toll.

Katara was holding his hand. Their children were slumped silently beside her. Toph, Sokka, Suki, and Zuko were keeping a silent vigil on his other side.

Aang was tired.

* * *

Aang did not remember his arrival at the Air Temple. Nor did he recall meeting Gyatso for the first time.

But for twelve years, the monks– and airbending– was his entire life. He studied, worked, and played in the ancient Temples. His earliest memory involved playing with other Airbender children. His mother was an acolyte at one of the women’s Temples. He was even made the youngest airbending master ever. His life was on track for becoming an old monk just like Gyatso, teaching the younger Airbenders his air scooter and living a peaceful life.

But then everything changed.

All of a sudden, Aang was no longer _just_ an Airbender. Suddenly, he was the Avatar.

The Avatar!

At twelve years old, his responsibilities increased tenfold. 

He was no longer an Airbender. He was a Waterbender, and an Earthbender, and a Firebender.

He would not have safety any more. He would not have a childhood anymore.

And soon, he would not have Gyatso, either.

So he did what any scared twelve year old would do. What any good Airbender would do.

He tried to dodge. He tried to run.

It was the worst mistake of his life.

* * *

When Aang woke up, at first, he hadn’t realized what he had done. Surely these two Water tribesmen were from a remote outpost. This could not be the _entire_ Southern Water Tribe. They were a little young to be soldiers, but they were older than he was, and Sokka said he was a warrior, and Katara was a waterbender, so surely she knew what she was doing.

And sure, they talked about a war, but that was probably some internal conflict he hadn’t heard about. Aang had been busy for the past few weeks. He didn’t have time to check on Water Tribe affairs.

Even after he had accepted that he had been trapped for one hundred years, he hadn’t quite believed that _all_ of the Airbenders had died. Airbenders were _nomads_. Yeah, the Fire Nation might have hit all four Temples, but some Airbenders had to have been in between temples when the massacre happened. And Airbenders were _fast_. It might have been bad, but there’s no way the Fire Nation got them all. 

And they certainly didn’t get Gyatso. Gyatso was the best Airbender Aang knew. He had taught Aang everything. Surely Gyatso had gotten away.

Surely…

* * *

Aang had stopped the Fire Lord. He had saved the world. He had stopped a second genocide.

Ozai’s bending had been taken. There was a part of Aang– probably Kyoshi– that was viciously pleased about Ozai rotting in a cell, angry and helpless, for the rest of his life. Another part of him wondered if energybending would lead to worse problems in the future.

But Aang was the only person in the world who knew how to energybend, and he could use it judiciously. 

Aang ignored his doubts and did not think about how having one’s bending taken from them must feel like a fate worse than death.

He did not want to wonder if killing Ozai would have been more merciful.

* * *

Aang was the last Airbender. He was the sole person who could carry on an entire culture.

 _And_ he was the Avatar.

Aang felt that one or the other was quite enough responsibility, thank you very much, but the universe had a cruel sense of humor.

For the first year out of the ice, Aang didn’t think too much about being _the last Airbender_. He was too busy running away from crazy, fire breathing princes and figuring out water-, earth-, and fire- bending in a twelfth of the time he’d had to figure out Airbending. In the end, he hadn’t quite mastered all three, but was “good enough”– good enough to beat Ozai, at any rate.

It wasn’t until Zuko offered them a place to stay in the Fire Palace, and Aang and the others had accepted, that it really, truly hit Aang that he was the only Air Nomad left in the world.

Up until then, Aang had been traveling on Appa. He had been seeing the world, and learning about new cultures and new bending styles. He had been making friends and sleeping out in the open and laughing and running and fighting the Fire Nation. Aside from the fighting, it was almost exactly like his old life.

But now, sleeping in a bed that was softer than anything he’d ever slept on in his life, with a roof over his head and nobody trying to kill him, Aang had time to think.

He was the last Airbender. Everyone else had died, or gone into hiding, but now that no one was resurfacing, Aang had a horrible feeling that what Katara and Sokka had told him on that first day had been true– nobody had escaped.

Aang was alone.

* * *

When Bumi had been born, Aang had been hopeful. Sokka had tried to tease him, pointing out that the kid could be a waterbender instead, but after seeing Aang’s crushed face, he had backpedaled quickly. Aang had felt no small amount of satisfaction at that. Gets him every time.

But, as it turned out, Bumi was a nonbender. And his second child, Kya, was a waterbender.

It wasn’t until his third child, Tenzin, that Aang finally wasn’t the last Airbender anymore.

* * *

Aang loved his children, all three of them.

Bumi was brave, and determined, and always had a story to tell, even if he did exaggerate the truth a bit.

Kya was perceptive, and loving, and when she came out to him, Aang had done his best to be supportive.

But Tenzin was an _Airbender_.

And Aang had a duty to his culture. To Monk Gyatso and all of the Airbenders who had died while Aang survived. 

He had a duty, because there was nobody left to do it for him. The Avatar, fighting alongside Monk Gyatso, might have tipped the scales and stopped the Fire Nation, over a hundred years ago. But Aang hadn’t been there. He _hadn’t been there_ , and thousands had paid for his mistake.

Aang couldn’t abandon his countrymen again. He would rebuild the Air Nation. At any cost. He had to train Tenzin as an Airbender, and encourage him to become a master, just like Aang, and keep the culture going.

It was Aang’s penance.

(He just didn’t realize he was making another, bigger mistake, until Bumi and Kya started pulling away.)

* * *

Aang had a cough. Just a little tickle, at the back of his throat, but it was annoyingly persistent. Katara was off visiting Sokka and Suki, but Aang had needed to represent the Air Nation at a meeting, so he had stayed back. He ignored the cough at first. It was just a little cough. Irritating, but not life-threatening.

One morning, though, he had woken up hacking and gagging, and no amount of tea or breathing exercises were helping.

So he had decided to see a healer. It could be serious, and he wouldn’t want to wait for it to get worse, or to infect Katara.

Aang had been patient throughout the examination, but the healer had clearly been nervous, and he only seemed to get more nervous as Aang described his symptoms. He fussed and hemmed and hawed and flipped through his notes with shaking hands.

Aang was no Toph, but he could tell when someone’s heartbeat was shooting through the roof.

“What’s wrong?” Aang had asked.

The healer had not responded at first, and Aang felt his own heartbeat speed up. 

“Well?”

Reluctantly, the healer faced him. “Your body… this disease… you may not be able to fight this off.”

“What?” Aang asked blankly. He felt like Toph had whacked him over the head with a rock. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

The healer had looked at the floor. “Your time in the iceberg,” he said. “Your body is old, Avatar Aang, even though your mind is relatively young. This disease is relentless, and your body is weakening. It is only a matter of time before it fails you.”

Aang felt like he was underwater. 

“I’m so sorry,” the healer had said.

Aang had just sat there, shocked.

_What am I going to tell Katara?_

* * *

Aang was struggling for breath.

 _An airbender, struggling to breathe, how ironic,_ he thought dizzily. He could vaguely make out his surroundings– Katara’s face, his friends on one side, his children on the other.

Somebody was calling his name. Somebody who sounded so achingly familiar.

But it couldn’t be… 

_Aang. Aang!_

Aang frowned. _Monk Gyatso?_

_Why would he be… oh._

“It won’t be long now,” he murmured, half to himself, and felt Katara’s grip tighten. “I can hear Gyatso.”

As the world around him faded away, Aang closed his eyes. 

Monk Gyatso was smiling at him. He held out a hand.

In his ears, Aang thought he could hear shrieks of laughter from long ago.

 _Penguin-sledding,_ he thought, and smiled. _Maybe I can ask Katara to go with me tomorrow._

He reached for Gyatso’s hand.

* * *

In the South, a baby named Korra uttered her first wail.

**Author's Note:**

> what did you think?


End file.
